I had returned. I hadn’t been here for seven years. I was angry that last summer, and once I got away, I didn’t want to come back. The irony was the career I sought to escape this small town was the very reason I was here. My first movie was a featured film at the Traverse City Film Festival. As an independent film director, my premiere brought me back home. Home. A place I didn’t recognize.

Or maybe home didn’t recognize me?

I had it all in California: a girlfriend who was the daughter of a movie financier, a job that led to connections in the film industry, and a condo overlooking the ocean in Malibu. What I didn’t have was family. I had left them all behind. I was the prodigal son.

The last person I expected to see was her. Britton McKay. She had been my summer love as a teenager. Not just once, but over several summers; until the last o

ne. That was seven years ago. Now, she looked more beautiful than I remembered. Seeing her again flooded me with memories long suppressed. She reminded me of everything I once had and left behind.